Partnership
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Harry/Draco. Fluffy as all hell. Some things are inevitable. And this may not have been one of them at first, but thank the gods it ended up that way. Epilogue? What epilogue? These boys, they are not mine.


"You're really good at this, you know," says Harry, registering the surprised tone of voice he's using.

"Don't sound so shocked, Potter." Malfoy grins, a sight Harry's still getting used to. "All those days on the Inquisitorial Squad are finally paying off."

Harry laughed at the comment coupled with Malfoy's sheepish expression. Malfoy clears his throat.

"I'm sorry, you know," says Malfoy. "For everything."

Harry cocks his head to the side, looks around at the Petrified crowd of Neo Death Eaters surrounding them, and says, "So am I."

Partnership does that to you, Harry supposes.

Harry hadn't been happy when Ron announced he'd be leaving the Auror corps to become a full-time dad as soon as his and Hermione's first child was born. After all, at 24, Hermione was the youngest professor Hogwarts had seen in over two centuries, and she wasn't about to give that up. And Ron wasn't a superstar Auror anyway. Sure, he was good at his job, but he wasn't exemplary. He knew that and seemed to feel OK about that, which gave Harry permission to feel OK about being promoted to Junior Head. Still, that didn't change the fact that Harry needed a new partner, and that Head Auror Jones seemed to think that new partner ought to be a fresh out of training recruit named Draco Malfoy.

"I know the past, Potter," Hestia said the day she told him who'd be replacing Ron. "Everyone does. But he's shaping up to be a damn fine Auror already. Kingsley's gone along on a handful of cases with him—"

"He _has_?"

"And he seems to think you'd partner well together," Hestia soldiered on. "Your style is very similar, very straightforward and nonverbal spell-heavy."

"Those are things that every Auror should be."

Hestia smiled wryly. "Exactly. He'll be starting next week."

It was tense at first, and understandably on both sides. They were always cordial to each other when they crossed paths in Hogsmeade or at the Ministry—Malfoy was in Games and Sports before, Harry knew—but they still weren't what anyone would call friendly. That shifted more quickly than Harry understood. Malfoy wasn't just good at what he did; he was _brilliant_, and as someone lauded throughout the department, Harry felt he was entitled to judge. It was a lot like having another copy of himself on every case, Harry thought, and that was exactly what he'd needed out of Ron and hadn't gotten. After the day they apologized, Malfoy and Harry's generally positive partnership smoothly transitioned into friendship. They had Friday night pints with Anthony and Dean, fellow Aurors, and Theo Nott, Malfoy's surprisingly pleasant former housemate at Hogwarts. Theo worked at St. Mungo's and frequently had good stories to share about the kinds of medical maladies the hospital didn't want heard outside its walls.

"Thank the gods Ron knocked up Hermione," Malfoy said one night after Dean and Anthony and Theo had left. Malfoy called Ron and Hermione by their first names now, though Harry, amused, could tell he struggled to do so sometimes. "It's good to have you honoring my 13-year-old request for friendship."

"It is, isn't it?"

Malfoy cuffed him on the shoulder, a shoulder that suddenly felt warmer and perhaps a bit tingly. Harry attempted to shake the feeling as Malfoy said, "Whatever you say, Potter."

"You said it first."

"Don't remind me."

"You're drunk."

"Not _that _drunk."

"You need help getting home?"

Malfoy sighed. "Is your couch still open?"

"I'll even let you borrow my pajamas," Harry offered.

Malfoy looked horrified. "I'll pass on that. You're a lifesaver."

"I've heard that before."

Harry's cottage in Hogsmeade had gotten slowly but surely better decorated since he and Malfoy had been partnered three months before. Every once in a while, Harry recalled, Malfoy would slyly drop hints about what make it look nicer, or mention the man who'd just refurbished a parlor in the Manor. Malfoy had his own place, a flat a few blocks from the Ministry, and Harry imagined it was immaculate, though he'd yet to be there. Due to Malfoy's borderline romantic devotion to red wine, he'd stayed on Harry's sofa a fair few times. He still wouldn't wear Harry's pajamas, but he was more than comfortable somehow locating the most comfortable pillow in the cottage and a ludicrously soft flannel blanket to match. More than once, Harry had threatened to take them both away, and more than once, Harry had given up after Malfoy feigned sleep in order to make Harry go away.

Harry looks at Malfoy, already asleep on the couch, and feels a pang, wondering what it's like to curl up that comfortably with another person, perhaps his partner. He dismisses the thought with a shake of his head. He hasn't dated in over a year, and while Terry Boot was a perfectly nice man who kissed adequately and liked going out for too-expensive dinners, it hadn't stuck. It never did. As far as Harry knew, Malfoy wasn't dating, either. There'd been talk of a marriage to Astoria Greengrass years before, and the _Prophet _had a field day when Malfoy turned down the Greengrass family, citing that a gay man wouldn't make a very good husband. Harry hadn't thought of it much then. He thought of it now, though.

"It's inappropriate, don't you think?"

Hermione smiles at him over her cup of tea. They're in her study at Hogwarts. She's already told him how her Transfiguration classes are going, how her fifth years are particularly good this year, but she still has a soft spot for the third years, who'd been her very first students. Now they've moved past school and Hugo and superficial work conversation, and for the first time, Harry's telling someone the way he looks at Malfoy. It's been two more months, making five months of partnership and about three and a half months of longing furtive looks and odd squishy feelings in the pit of Harry's stomach. Hermione thinks Harry should do something. Harry disagrees.

"There are plenty of dating and married Auror partners, Harry, and other Ministry employees as well."

"But they were before they started."

"Not Seamus and Hannah, or Neville and Luna, or Millie and Pansy, or—"

"You've made your point," Harry cuts her off. "But it's Malfoy. Aren't you supposed to be discouraging me?"

"Since he became your partner, he's come over to our house for dinner, we've gone out for drinks, and he's watched Hugo. I've left him alone with my only child."

Harry lets out a sigh. "You've made your second point. I suppose this is you telling me to go for it, then?"

"Of course it is. But you've known that I'd be doing that since we sat down, haven't you? Just needed that final push. That's you."

"Whenever I rush into something on my own, it tends to go wrong, so, yes."

"That's not true." Harry raises an eyebrow at Hermione, who adds, "Not always, at least. Look, you should just do something. He won't on his own."

"Because he doesn't like me."

"Shut it. Of course he does. You're handsome and charming and funny and his closest friend, by all accounts. What's not to like?"

Harry blushes.

"That, too. The blushing. It helps, I think. I don't know. I've never been attracted to you."

"Oi! I've never been attracted to you, either."

"Somehow I'm not offended by this."

"I'm going now."

"Go get him."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Thanks. I mean that, despite the expression."

"I know you do."

It's still three weeks and two Muggle artefact-smuggling ring shakedowns later before Harry goes and gets him, in a manner of speaking. Really, going isn't part of it, unless you count three steps across their shared office after sending off an inter-department memo to Hestia, saying it's Friday at 6 and they'll submit their report Monday afternoon, but yes, they caught the bad guys, thank you very much.

Malfoy stands and stretches. "Dinner? I'm still getting over the wonder of Rosmerta not hating me, so I thought we'd go to Zabini's restaurant instead. It's about 15 blocks from here, but you like walking."

It's a statement, not a guess. Malfoy knows that. He knows what Harry likes, and what he doesn't, and what drinks he orders, and how he arranges his quills, and why he's never tried to part his hair on the side... Without another thought, Harry stands and walks around his desk to the back of Malfoy's, where Malfoy—Draco, he supposes, because why on earth would he still refer to this man as 'Malfoy?'—is still standing, and he puts his hands on either side of Draco's face and doesn't take the time to note Draco's startled expression as he leans in for a kiss. It's brief and Harry doesn't open his mouth and neither does Draco, but Draco's lips are pushing back into his with what Harry registers as insistence.

After Draco pulls back slightly and Harry drops his hands, Draco smirks, much more affectionately than all those times he was satisfied with Harry doing something stupid so long ago. "Always wondered which one of us would get around to that first," Draco muses. "Theo's been driving me crazy, you know. Thinks I'm mental for not just asking you out or snogging you in the corner behind Finnegan and Abbott's office or something. But hey, you're the Chosen One. This kind of thing's your job, right?"

Harry shakes his head and laughs. "Shut up, would you? We've got some catching up to do and we have the whole weekend, but I don't want you to interrupt it with this nattering on."

"This is how it's going to be, isn't it?" Draco asks, hooking his arms around Harry's neck. Harry puts a hand on either side of Draco's waist. Draco continues, "We're going to mock each other mercilessly and do it out of some mad affection we've had stored up for years but never cared to use. Too busy hating each other for no clear reason."

"You were a prat."

"So were you. And at least I made it look good."

"We're not supposed to be talking right now, remember?"

Draco sighed. "Fine. Maybe open your mouth this time?"

"Shut up."

Draco did.

Very little changed, really, dynamic-wise. The biggest difference, other than the snogging and eventual shagging, was that Harry never left work late again. At 4:55 pm every day, he'd begin packing up his things and glancing at Draco across the room, who'd look up and smirk and ignore his files into an impossibly neat pile and stand up. They had a fairly strict no snogging rule in the office, but they occasionally broke it just before they walked out and Apparated to Harry's cottage—their cottage, now, Harry supposed, since Draco had unceremoniously moved in his things over the course of three months. It had been six more now. Draco had never asked, but that was Draco's style, wasn't it? He didn't have to be assertive then, just passively insert himself somewhere he knew he was welcome, and that was the end of that.

All Harry had to do to convince everyone he knew that he and Draco were a good idea was spend more than 15 minutes together with Draco and whoever was questioning the relationship. Then they understood. It was simple as that. It made sense, really. When they fought, it was wrenching, but when they got back together, it felt worth it. It was worth it, because Harry had not felt this kind of contentment before. Being told he was a wizard, meeting his godfather, defeating the Dark Lord, even—those were triumphs. They weren't the emotional powerhouse this was, this pure and true contentment that he wouldn't risk for anything. And the knowledge that Draco wouldn't either certainly helped.

Harry often wondered if Draco would try to worm his way into permanent commitment next, and amused himself as to how that would go. Would he trick Harry into signing some kinds of documents, or shove a ring on Harry's finger while Harry, a notoriously heavy sleeper post-war, was dead out after a Friday evening of drinks and endless banter? It surprised Harry, then, when Draco simply dropped to one knee after one of those Friday nights and asked, surprised Harry enough that he nodded rather than saying yes. Draco laughed and slid rather than shoved a ring onto Harry's finger. Two more months and they were married now. They didn't talk about children. Neither of them seemed to want those, despite Hermione's insistence that Harry would be a brilliant father. Maybe someday, he thought.

But for now...

For now, it's a Saturday and Draco is slumped against him on the couch, the same one he used to sleep on, dozing with a battered copy of _Good Omens _in his lap. Harry smiles down and curls a strand of white blond hair behind Draco's ear, pressing a kiss to the top of Draco's head before concentrating again on the Man United versus Arsenal game he's been waiting on for weeks. It's Dean's fault really, endlessly chattering about Muggle football and finally convincing Harry it was worthwhile. Draco still doesn't get the appeal, so he reads while Harry watches and he eventually falls asleep. "Auroring is hard work, Potter," he says sometimes, and Harry always laughs and shakes his head as Draco nods off on Harry's shoulder.

"I love you," Harry says.

Draco's eyes flutter open. "I love you, too," he says sleepily. "Now let me sleep, you utter git."

Harry grins and slips his arm around Draco's shoulder, who snuggles ever closer. They're like that for hours before Draco wakes up and they make love before going for Saturday night takeaway at Ron and Hermione's.

"Did you ever think domesticity would be this enjoyable?" Draco asks him as they get dressed.

"Never," says Harry, walking over to straighten Draco's tie. "You know you don't have to wear ties when we're eating sub-par Indian food and holding babies, right?"

"Some things can't change. And you like how I look in a tie."

"That is true," Harry admits. "Second round later?"

"Only if you don't bring it up again."

"In front of Hugo and Rose? Hermione'd kill me."

"I believe that somehow."

They Floo away, unnecessarily gripping each other's hands. Draco smiles at Harry as they step out into Ron and Hermione's living room. Harry thinks of the moment when he first saw that smile directed at him, when they first got called in to Gringotts to ward off a potential break-in. Draco could see through Harry's glamour—Gringotts employees didn't like him much, small wonder there—and he smiled at him anyway. Turning points were a funny thing, Harry thought. Such a simple moment, yet it somehow changed everything, even if they didn't know it then. Harry thinks that right now might be another one of those as Draco takes Rose in his arms and practically coos her name in a way Harry doesn't think he's ever heard. He shakes the thought away for now. But only for now, because anything's possible if he and Draco can fall in love and get married and live and work together without major incident. Killing a Dark Lord, he thinks as he takes in Draco's smile and laugh as Rose babbles back, has nothing on this. Never has. Never will.


End file.
